


where they know what I'm like and don't mind

by NahaFlowers



Category: Heroes (TV 2006)
Genre: (because Arthur Petrelli is an asshole), Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Nathan is depressed, Pre-Canon, but mostly this is just a fairly gentle if sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: Nathan has one of his so-called Dark Days and goes to hide out at Peter's place.
Relationships: Nathan Petrelli & Peter Petrelli
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	where they know what I'm like and don't mind

Nathan's alarm clock cut the morning in two and he groaned, reaching over blindly to turn it off. Then he buried his head under his pillow.

He hadn't even opened his eyes yet and he knew it was a bad day. No, not just a bad day. His life had no shortage of those. A Bad Day, capital B, capital D. One of those days where he'd call in sick from work even though nothing was wrong. One of  _ those _ days.

He lay blinking into the blessed dark cotton of his pillow for a while until he felt Heidi shifting and stirring beside him. He clenched his eyes and fists shut tightly, crumpling the sheet beneath his fingers. He heaved a sigh. And then, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he got up.

Well, he sat up. That was a start. Heidi blinked up at him questioningly through sleep-shuttered eyes as Nathan closed his own again, breathing heavily. He could do this. He could get up.

He tensed his whole body again in preparation, telling himself, you're going to swing your legs around off the bed and stand up, trying not to feel the anger and frustration that came off that thought, the implied 'you useless piece of shit' within it. He failed.

What if he couldn't get up? What if he lay here in bed all day like he used to, when he came home on leave and his father was blessedly, thankfully away and he could let go and let himself be the fuck-up he knew deep down he was, while his mother sighed disapprovingly at him and Peter wormed his way under the covers to hold him?  _ God _ . 

No, he had to get up. He  _ would _ get up. Or his wife would see what an absolutely fucked up person she had married, see the mess that was who Nathan Petrelli truly was, the one he had desperately been trying to hide from her since they had got married less than a year ago. 

Screwing all his willpower and effort up, he dug his fingernails into his palms and managed, just, to stand up. He nearly let himself topple down again, but forced himself to walk the few steps into the en suite bathroom. Even though it hurt. 

"What is wrong with you?" he muttered to his face in the mirror, splashing water on it as if that would knock some sense into him. He shouldn't feel like this. He was rich, privileged, had a high-powered job and was from a prestigious family. He had a beautiful wife, and a child on the way. His life was basically perfect in every way. 

So why did he still feel like this? 

Instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was to sit on the toilet and cry about it for a while, he cursorily brushed his teeth and then exited the bathroom. 

Heidi was sitting up in bed now, watching him. Watching him sleepily, but still. He wanted her to stop looking at him, to lie back down and go to sleep and just leave him alone. He took a deep breath as she opened her mouth to speak, sternly reminding himself not to behave like a toddler. 

"Are you alright?" she asked hesitantly. "Usually you're up out of bed and out of the house before I'm even properly awake."  _ Even if it's a weekend and you're not due in the office _ , was the unspoken implication, which Nathan nevertheless heard. 

"Fine," he said, waving a perfunctory hand and turning to his wardrobe so he didn't have to look her in the eyes. He grabbed a pair of pants, a shirt and a tie, tugging them as quickly as possible, wishing he could just stay in his pajamas. "I'm late," he said shortly, stepping towards the door. 

"Nathan, you haven't even got your tie on straight!" Heidi laughed uncertainly and reached towards him to fix his tie and Nathan let her, because he didn't have the energy to fight today. She fiddled with his tie and kissed his cheek dutifully while Nathan wished he did not exist. 

When she had finally finished fussing over him (it really hadn't been long, but to Nathan it felt like an eternity), he turned and briskly walked out the door before she could ask him any more questions. 

Peter grabbed his favorite hoodie from his desk chair and pulled it on, attempting to chew on the remainders of last night's pizza at the same time. He was running late for class, and they had a test today, a big one. The pizza dropped onto the front of his hoodie and he looked at the tomato sauce stain in annoyance, wondering if he even had time to change. He decided he didn't, grabbed his backpack from the corner of his tiny dorm room and began to head out, but his roommate poked his head in first. 

Peter sighed. "What is it, Bryan?" 

"Your brother's here," said Bryan, looking from Peter's face to the stain on his sweater to the piece of pizza lying incriminatingly on his desk and shook his head. "You're a mess, Petrelli," he said as Peter made his way out of the small room into the living space they shared with two other boys. 

Ignoring that, Peter cast a glance over his shoulder. "Did he say what he wanted?" They didn't have anything scheduled, and though Nathan would occasionally just drop in, he usually at least texted Peter first rather than turning up on his doorstep. 

Bryan shook his head. "No. But he looked even more of a mess than you."

Worried now, Peter quickly unbolted the door and pulled it open. "Nathan," he said, and looked his older brother up and down. Bryan was right. He looked a mess. His hair was ruffled and uncombed and there were bags under his eyes. He didn't even have a tie on. Wordlessly, Peter opened the door up to let Nathan in and his brother practically fell into the room. 

"Thanks," said Nathan roughly as Peter caught him in his arms. 

"You OK?" asked Peter, guiding him gently to the bedroom. The answer was obviously no, but still. What was he supposed to say when his high-flying older brother turned up at his shitty student dorm room on a Monday morning when he was supposed to be at work. 

Nathan shook his head but said nothing. He collapsed onto Peter's bed, upright but barely. Peter sat down next to him and gently took his hand. 

"You're supposed to be at work, right?" Peter's voice was as gentle as he could make it, but Nathan still cringed and curled in on himself a little at the words.

"I...just can't, today, Pete." His voice was raw, like he had needed to reach inside his body and wrench the words up his throat. He looked sick, shamefaced, disgusted with himself. Peter moved closer and stroked his back, soothingly. 

"I was just wondering if you'd called them," Peter said reassuringly. As much as he just wanted to hold Nathan and comfort him, he knew his brother would feel even worse tomorrow if he had just gone AWOL and had to answer questions about where he'd been. Especially if any of those questions came from their father. 

Nathan nodded, looking relieved. "Called them on the way. Said I was sick." 

Peter nodded and squeezed his hand and felt his brother relaxing by inches under his hand. He looked around Peter's room with something almost akin to interest. 

He turned to Peter and his eyes, clouded with misery, cleared and widened slightly upon seeing the backpack still slung over Peter's shoulder. "You have class," he said, starting to stand up. 

"No, it's fine," said Peter with a small smile, but even through his haze, Nathan hadn't missed the way his eyes had widened momentarily upon being reminded. Peter pulled Nathan back to the bed and squeezed his hand. "You're more important right now."

"Peter..." said Nathan warningly. 

Peter sighed. "I have a test, okay? But I'm already late, so, whatever." He shrugged, hitching a smile onto his face. Trying not to think about trying to explain why he had missed the test, or persuading the professor to let him take it again. 

"Peter, go to class," said Nathan gently, pushing him off the bed. Peter started to go, but out of the corner of his eye caught Nathan bending lower and pushing his face against his hands, his breath hitching and then quickly evening again. Stifling a sob. 

"Nate..." Peter trailed off helplessly, at a loss for what to do. He  _ wanted _ to stay here and look after Nathan, but Nathan wanted him to go.

"Pete," said Nathan evenly, looking up at him, haggard and sad. "It's OK. I'll stay here, I promise. But you need to go take this test."

Peter nodded. "OK. I'll be back in an hour."

"Take your time," said Nathan, now getting under Peter's covers, eyelids drooping closed, relief evident on his face. Peter cast one more uncertain glance back at his brother before picking up his rucksack and keys and heading swiftly out the door.

  
  


Nathan was sleeping when Peter got back. His features were relaxed and he actually looked peaceful, for once. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and, setting his rucksack down, went to the kitchen to make some lunch.

Bryan was there. "Is your brother OK?" he asked.

Peter shrugged. "He's got depression." It was something he'd figured out a while back, but he'd never actually given voice to it before.

Bryan nodded. "Look, I'm going over to my girlfriend's now. I can stay over there tonight, if that's easier."

Peter gave him a grateful smile. He'd never really got on with Bryan particularly well, but right now Peter wanted to hug him. "Yeah, I mean...if it's not too much trouble."

"It's fine," said Bryan, nodding at Peter in understanding as he left the kitchen. Peter turned to the kitchen and dug out a couple of chamomile teabags and put them into mugs, boiling some water. Then he started making sandwiches.

"Nathan."

The second time Nathan woke up that day it was to Peter's smell all around him and to Peter whispering his name like it was sacred. His eyes blinked open a little easier this time, looking up at his little brother standing next to his bed. He managed a strangled laugh when he saw the plate in Peter's hands.

"You made sandwiches."

Peter nodded. "And tea," he said, indicating the two mugs on his bedside table. "I figured you probably hadn't eaten anything today, so..."

"Thanks," said Nathan, taking the plate from him. 

"Budge up," Peter said, sitting on the bed next to Nathan. Nathan did so without complaint. 

"How'd the test go?" Nathan asked as Peter leaned his head on his shoulder. 

"Good," said Peter, in between bites of sandwich. "Well," he said, amending slightly, "as well as can be expected."

Nathan looked pained. "You were late." It wasn't a question. 

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was already late, so don't go feeling guilty about it." He nudged Nathan with his shoulder. "Eat a sandwich."

Nathan dubiously picked one up. "What's  _ in _ these?" he asked. 

Peter looked at him in disbelief. "Peanut butter and jelly. Have you seriously never had one before?" He had already finished the first and was already chewing away on another. "They're pretty good."

Nathan took a cautious bite out of his, although he didn't feel that hungry. He didn't feel all that much of anything really. But he was glad Peter was here. 

"You got any more classes this afternoon?" he asked, absentmindedly rubbing circles on his brother's back. 

Peter looked away from him. "Nah," he mumbled. 

"Peter," said Nathan warningly, not too far gone to pick up when his brother was lying to him. Well, he had never been very good at it. "You have, haven't you?" 

Peter shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's not important."

"They are important, Peter! You need to go to class. Especially when you're paying for it all yourself. You can't just skip classes."

Peter smiled at him. "Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it," he said. "But today you're more important."

Nathan opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated, not sure of what to say.

"After all," Peter continued, squeezing Nathan's hand. "What kind of nurse would I be if I can't look after my own brother?" 

"But I'm supposed to look after you," Nathan said, and the crack in his voice almost broke Peter's heart. 

"Well, today it's the other way round. Consider it payback, for all those times you came to my rescue." He looked up lovingly at Nathan, batting his eyelids a little, but also just breathing him in, and Nathan stared back at him for a long minute, unable to tear himself away, until Peter broke the gaze himself. "Now eat your sandwich," he said. 

For a while they ate in comfortable silence, Peter's warm body next to his providing a sense of well-being that Nathan couldn't find anywhere else. 

"I see you're still a fan of my novelty t-shirts," Peter said, noticing that Nathan was no longer in his suit. It was a running joke with Peter - he would turn up to family occasions with the most outrageous novelty slogan t-shirts on, or gift them to his family for Christmas, partly to wind them up and partly because he found it hilarious. Nathan was wearing the first one he had grabbed out of Peter's wardrobe - black on white, a couple of sizes too small, with the words "TOO CUTE TO BE STRAIGHT". 

Nathan looked down, embarrassed. "I just grabbed the first one I saw in your wardrobe," he mumbled, elbowing Peter as he laughed. "Surprisingly, I wasn't in the mood to be picky."

That sobered Peter a little. "Well, what's mine is yours," he said with a grin, but the look in his eyes suggested a deeper meaning than the flippant phrase usually justified. Nathan looked away. "But, you know, you could have just put on your own t-shirt."

"What are you talking about?" Nathan asked, but Peter had already slipped off the bed to his wardrobe and was pulling something out. He threw it to Nathan. 

The new t-shirt in question was a few sizes bigger and bore somewhat subtler lettering which read "World's Greatest Brother". As Nathan read the words Peter saw a small smile settle on his face. 

"Well that one's definitely yours." Nathan's voice was gruff with emotion. 

"Nuh uh." Peter shook his head, turning the full force of his smile on Nathan. "It's your size. And hey, I got you some pyjama pants as well." So saying, he tossed these over too - they were tartan, and flannel, and looked extremely comfortable. 

Nathan felt like it was probably stupid to get so emotional over something so small, but he kind of felt like crying. "Thanks, Pete," he choked out, and Peter nodded and turned away, ostensibly so Nathan could change into his new pajamas but really so Nathan could wipe away the tears that threatened to spill. He'd never stop being grateful for his little brother, he thought, as he got back into bed. 

He lay back, closing his eyes. "You sure it's OK for me to stay here?" 

Peter had moved back to the bed. He dropped a kiss on Nathan's forehead. "It's fine," he said soothingly. "My roommate's away for the night anyway. You just rest." He perched on the bed and put an arm around Nathan, who snuggled up into his embrace. He wouldn't usually give in to the urge, but he was half asleep and if Peter was offering comfort, he was gonna take it.  _ I'm safe now _ , he thought vaguely as he drifted to sleep again, Peter reading his textbook beside him. 

When Nathan awoke, it was to Peter looking down at him lovingly - eyes soft, smile tender. Nathan reached for him without even thinking about it and Peter took his hand and kissed it. Then he gently laid it on Nathan's chest and shuffled down the bed so he was lying beside him, heads almost touching on the pillow. 

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked gently, reaching for Nathan's hand again. 

Nathan closed his eyes. "Alright," he said, and Peter frowned. "Better than I was at home, anyway."

That just deepened Peter's expression of concern. "What's going on?" 

Nathan shook his head against the pillow. "Nothing really. It's just...I don't know, everything. You know how it is. Plus, Heidi's pregnant, and I just don't think I'm ready-" 

"Heidi's  _ pregnant _ ?" 

"Yeah. Didn't I-? I told mom and dad," said Nathan, worriedly looking up to meet Peter's eyes. 

"Yeah, well, since when do they ever tell me anything?" said Peter. 

"I'm sorry, Pete. I...you should have been the first to know, it's just...I-" 

"It's alright," said Peter soothingly, squeezing Nathan's hand, although he was obviously still hurt. Nathan closed his eyes in regret. 

"Peter, I- I really meant to tell you-" 

"I know, I know," said Peter, shushing him, reaching out and stroking down his shoulder and upper arm. Nathan relaxed into the touch. "What do you mean, you're not ready?"

Nathan's closed eyes opened to reveal the tears gathered in them. "I just...don't think I'm gonna be a very good father."

Peter looked genuinely confused. "What? Why not?"

Nathan shrugged uncomfortably into the bedsheets. "I'm not a very good husband. Or a son, or a brother-"

"Hey, hey, come on now. You're a great brother." Nathan wished that was true. "World’s Greatest, in fact. Why do you think I got you that t-shirt?” That brought out a little smile onto Nathan’s lips, although it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Nathan, c'mon, look at me. You practically raised me," he said, stroking his thumb over his brother's wet cheek. "You're gonna be an amazing dad, I just know it."

Nathan smiled shyly up at him - his brother's belief in him was by turns astounding and humbling, and he didn't know what he could say, how he could thank Peter for it, especially when he didn't quite believe it was true. "You think?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, definitely." Peter rested his head on Nathan's chest and circled his whole body around Nathan's, squeezing him tight.

Nathan rested his head on Peter's. "I just don't want to be him, you know? Or anything like him."

"Dad? You're nothing like him, Nathan," said Peter fiercely. "You never could be."

Nathan shook his head. "He seems to think differently."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't know you like I do." Peter looked up at Nathan, eyes fierce but smile soft. "Does he?"

Nathan pulled him impossibly closer. "I guess not," he said, kissing the top of Peter's head. "It's not just that though."

Peter looked attentively at him. "What is it?" he whispered. 

Nathan struggled to find the words. "I don't know. My life. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like my own. Sometimes it doesn't feel real. Sometimes  _ I _ don't feel real."

Peter took Nathan's hands in his own, closing his eyes and kissing each knuckle in turn. "Is this real?" he asked, opening his eyes to look up at Nathan. 

Nathan's eyelids fluttered closed. "Yeah," he said shakily. 

Peter squeezed his hand. "You're here, Nathan. You're real, your life is real. It's important, and it matters."

"Why, because I'm a hotshot lawyer who's gonna become a hotshot politician in a few years time?" Nathan asked bitterly, but the bitterness wasn't directed at Peter. 

"No," said Peter quietly. "You matter because you're you." Nathan met his gaze and he pressed on, earnestly. "All that career stuff, whatever dad wants you to do or be, that doesn't matter. You can do whatever you want, Nathan, you're still gonna be you. And you..." Peter took a big gulping breath like he was trying not to cry, "you're worth so much." He didn't quite manage to rein in his emotions, one tear falling down off his nose and onto their still joined hands. Nathan remained silent. "I don't think you realise that, sometimes. A lot of the time, maybe."

"What do you mean?" Nathan mumbled. 

Peter sighed, looking up at him through the hair that had fallen in his face. "It's just...you've been like this for as long as I remember." 

"Been like what?" asked Nathan sharply. 

"Like this," said Peter, gesturing vaguely at Nathan in the bed. He took a deep breath. "Depressed. Nathan, I think you have depression."

_ Well, of course I have depression _ , Nathan thought. He snorted. "I’m not depressed," he said, flashing a smile as if to prove it. 

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "Are you sure? Because when I was 5 years old you lay in bed staring at the ceiling for three days straight. When I was ten I overheard you crying in your room. Not just crying, sobbing. I was too scared to go in, but I stayed out there all night and you never stopped. Every time you came home on leave and dad wasn't there, you spent the day in bed, you barely spoke. Mom called them your dark days." Peter looked pointedly at his brother, who was gritting his teeth and avoiding his gaze. "Sounds kinda like depression to me."

"OK, maybe I'm depressed," Nathan ground out, reluctantly. 

"Have you ever thought about seeing anyone? You know, a therapist or something?" Peter suggested hesitantly. 

Nathan shook his head, stony faced - the look that Peter knew meant 'shut up and leave it alone', but he pushed on anyway. 

"Or even pills or something. I've heard antidepressants can be really helpful if you figure out the right one, right dosage and stuff."

"Pete, no," said Nathan firmly. 

"But why not? Nathan, this stuff could really help you-" 

"Because I'm gunning for assistant DA. If all goes to plan, I'll be running for Congress in a decade, maybe less. You know what happens to politicians when people find out they have mental health issues?" 

"But-" 

"They lose! Pete, I know you're trying to help but just...leave it, OK?" 

Peter looked sad. "Is running for Congress really more important than your mental health?" 

Nathan growled in frustration. "My mental health is fine. I can deal. I'm the strong one."

"Says who? Dad? You just admitted you're depressed, Nathan. You're round mine in the middle of the week, lying in bed, when you should be working on your 'big ambitions'." He rolled his eyes when he said that, encircling the words in air quotations. Then his voice gentled. "I don't think you're dealing with it as well as you think you are."

"Fine," said Nathan, getting out of bed. "Fine." He walked over to where Peter had hung his suit and started removing the stupid pajamas Peter had given him, not even caring that Peter was watching. 

"What are you doing?" asked Peter, confused. 

"I'm leaving. See, look how fine I am," he said, pulling on his trousers and then realizing they were back to front. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, tugging the trousers off with difficulty and hurling them to the floor, trying not to stamp his foot or let tears fall from his eyes. 

"Nathan," said Peter, getting up off the bed and going over to him. "Don't go. I didn't mean it like that."

Nathan whipped his head around and his eyes were wild and desperate and wet. "I know," he said, dragging the pajama pants back on and going to sit on the bed in defeat. Peter joined him and guided Nathan's head to his shoulder, taking his hand and stroking it. 

"It's just-" said Peter hesitantly, pausing when Nathan moved slightly but carrying on when he appeared to settle, "you haven't even tried. And I see you sometimes, when you think I'm not looking. You're hurting so much, Nathan." Peter's voice was upset, tear-filled, the kind of voice that usually made Nathan jump immediately to Peter's aid and possibly threaten or fight whatever or whoever was making him sad. Except this time it was him making Peter sad, and he couldn't do anything about it. He closed his eyes and sighed in regret and defeat. 

"Who says I haven't tried?" said Nathan. 

Peter blinked down at him. "You  _ have _ ?" 

Nathan nodded, hating the hopeful tone in Peter's voice. "Suffice to say it didn't take," Nathan murmured, wishing that could be the end of it. 

Peter furrowed his brow. "Why not?" 

"Reasons. I was too strong and smart to be suffering. Mental infirmity is for women and the weak, and you're not weak, are you, Nathan?" 

Peter grimaced. "Dad?" 

"Yeah. He said no son of his would succumb to feeble-mindedness. Called it hysteria. Told me I'd better shape up, and fast, or I'd lose him as a father."

Peter pulled Nathan close, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered fiercely in his ear. "You didn't deserve that. Any of it." Peter kicked his heel hard against the bed frame. "He's a bastard."

"Yeah," said Nathan, although he didn't sound very convinced. 

"Nathan," said Peter, pulling back slightly and tipping Nathan's chin up so he could meet his eyes. "You know none of that's true, right?" 

"Isn't it? I'm weak, Pete. I can't be what dad wants me to be, not really."

"And thank God for that," Peter muttered. 

Nathan looked at him, distraught. "But I can't be  _ you _ either. I can't just up and disown him and- do what? What would I even do, Pete?" 

"I didn't disown him," protested Peter.

"You as good as did."

"What, because he refused to pay for my education and I didn't just give up and do what he wanted? Instead I decided to pay for it myself?"

"Is that a dig?"

"No, Nathan," said Peter, putting a placating hand on his brother's shoulder. "I get it." He paused. "Well, I don't really. I don't understand the hold he has over you, why you can't just get out and do what you want. Even if you don't know what it is yet. You could do  _ anything _ , Nathan."

Nathan closed his eyes in despair. Peter shut his mouth and put his arm round Nathan's shoulders, supportive, sweet.

"Can we just--not do this tonight, Pete? Please?"

"Yeah, I- I'm sorry."

"It's just--we always get in this exact same fight and end up going in circles and-- I can't handle it. Not today."

Pete nodded rapidly in understanding. He stroked Nathan's hair back from his forehead, tenderly. "I just worry about you, you know."

Nathan gave him a heartbreaking smile. "You don't need to worry about me, Pete," he said, his voice a pale imitation of the brotherly tone he was going for. "That's my job."

Peter laid his head on Nathan's shoulder. "Yeah, OK," he said. He would let Nathan believe that, convince himself of it, because he knew it was what his brother needed to do. To keep up the mask, or his sanity, Peter wasn't sure. Maybe both. To be able to wake up the next day and carry on.

"I'm gonna get changed," said Peter, after a long minute or two sat together in comfortable silence.

"Then back to bed?" asked Nathan as Peter got up. His voice sounded small, almost childlike, his eyes wide and open, and Peter couldn't resist planting the softest kiss on Nathan's brow.

"Yeah," he said, "then back to bed."

Nathan shuffled back under the covers and closed his eyes in serenity as Peter got in next to him. 

In the dark, Peter cuddled close to him, Nathan attempted something approximating honesty.

"I wish it could always be like this."

Nathan felt Peter shuffling around on his chest and a moment later his face appeared right next to Nathan's, nose abutting his cheek. "I know," said Peter, pressing his lips to Nathan’s cheek gently.

Nathan continued. "Just...you and me together. No one else in the world." He closed his eyes against his vulnerability. "It's the only time I feel real."

Peter said nothing more but clung to Nathan tightly, and Nathan let him, knowing that really,  _ he  _ was the one clinging on to Peter for dear life.

He would wake up the next morning and go back to his job and his wife and his life, and he would be able to bear it, at least for a little while, because he had tonight, now. Because he had Peter, and Nathan’s soul was soft and safe and warm in his brother’s hands. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
